


Catch and Release

by zinke



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Fluff (BSG-style)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-28
Updated: 2009-12-28
Packaged: 2017-10-12 04:39:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/120907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zinke/pseuds/zinke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cottle's not here, Bill. No medicine, no miracles. There's only this life; here, now, with you. Please let me have that before it's too late.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Catch and Release

**Author's Note:**

> In a cosmically awesome coincidence, I have been given the opportunity to repay averita for [the wonderful story she wrote me](http://survivalinstinct.net/viewstory.php?sid=1708&chapter=1) for the 2008 LJ comm adama_roslin's Secret Santa exchange. For this year's exchange, she requested "an AU fic where Laura's cancer progresses more slowly than it did in the series. She has a year to spend on Earth and intends to make the most of it." Hopefully I too have been able to make the most of this really awesome prompt. Enjoy!
> 
> Any resemblance to the 2006 Jennifer Garner movie of the same name is purely coincidence. Really.
> 
> Thanks go as always to my partner in awesome nnaylime, and to caz963 who knows just when to smack some sense into me – and thankfully has no qualms about doing so.

****

A dream of life comes to me, like a catfish dancin' on the end of the line.  
\- Bruce Springsteen, 'The Rising'

* * * *

Laura hadn't intended to pick a fight with him.

She'd woken up that morning feeling good – better than she had in weeks – and had had every intention of making the most of it. Bill however, had had other ideas; as he had countless times before, he'd gently refused her offers to help him in the garden or collect kindling for the fire and left their tent shortly after breakfast to undertake the chores by himself.

She's known Bill for long enough now to have become intimately familiar with his overly protective tendencies. Recently, there have even been a few times when the fatigue and pain have been bad enough to make her grateful for it. But so far those times have been few and far between, and though this particular day isn't discernibly different from any of the others, she's unable to shake off the sense of frustrated disappointment. If anything, the feeling grows stronger as she sets about the familiar tasks of her own limited daily routine. Washing dishes, boiling water, cooking their evening meal; though she knows they're all just as important as the work Bill does, their completion leaves her feeling unfulfilled nonetheless. This isn't – and has never been – what she wanted out of life; a fact she sees fit to share with Bill when he returns, a bundle of logs under his arm, several hours later.

"I never wanted to be someone's housewife," she declares abruptly once he's finished stacking the firewood in the corner next to the cast-iron stove.

"What?" Bill asks, giving her a strange look before pulling off his tanks and using the shirt to wipe the sweat from his forehead.

Laura indicates the pot of boiling water on the stove and the basket of laundry at her feet with a brusque sweep of her hand. "I can do more than this. I _want_ to do more."

"You need to save your strength."

"For what, exactly?" she retorts, not bothering to hide her mounting irritation. "Cottle's not here, Bill. No medicine, no miracles. There's only this life; here, now, with you. Please let me have that before it's too late."

"I thought you were happy here."

She can hear his unspoken words – _with me_ – as clearly as if he'd spoken them aloud, and she can't help the impatient sigh that escapes her lips in response. "You're deliberately missing the point."

Bill glares at her for several moments before tossing his tanks into the laundry basket and turning his back to her, makes his way to the bureau by their bed. Opening the drawer, he takes out a clean shirt and pulls it over his head.

His obstinate dismissal is the last straw. Walking over to him, she takes hold of his arm and forcibly draws him around to face her. "Bill, I'm not dead yet – stop treating me as though I am."

Laura realizes what she's said a moment too late. Bill's expression shifts from shocked to hurt to hardened in a matter of seconds and, yanking his arm from her grasp, he storms outside without another word. Laura hurries after him and blinking into the bright afternoon sunlight, watches resignedly as he strides angrily along the lake's edge in the direction of the small Cylon settlement some five clicks to the north where Saul and Ellen now live.

She knows better than to try and go after him. Crossing her arms over her chest, Laura instead drops her gaze and makes her way down to the water's edge. As she walks, the breeze ruffles the short, soft hair at the nape of her neck and she suppresses a shiver at the still unfamiliar sensation as she turns and surveys the small plot of land that she and Bill chose to be their new home.

Up until a few weeks ago, their fleet-issue tent would have been the only thing obstructing her view of the steep mountains that enclose this valley, keeping its lake and newest inhabitants safely hidden from the outside world. Those peaks and the protection they afford were among the reasons so many had chosen to settle along this shore; here, they could live without fear of muddying the evolutionary order any more than they had already. And it was why, just beyond the drab, canvas shelter, there now stood the skeletal beginnings of the timber frame that would one day soon become their cabin.

Others too have begun building. From her vantage point on the shore, Laura can see similar structures to the south, silhouetted against the cobalt blue of the sky. According to Bill, there is a group of five families living there, all from the _Celestra_ and all seemingly content to keep to themselves. Laura herself has never ventured down to visit them; she tires too easily these days to manage the distance on foot – and if she's honest with herself, she's not particularly interested in mingling with the neighbors. After years of living for and surrounded by others, she's more than content with the relative solitude she and Bill have found in this place.

Even if there are times – like this morning – when she'd like nothing more than to throttle the man.

Heaving a sigh, Laura reluctantly makes her way back inside. It will likely be hours before Bill returns and when he does she's certain he'll be in no condition to have any sort of serious discussion. The makeshift still Saul's been able to fashion from salvaged Raptor parts is enough to make Tyrol or any of the other former deckhands proud and it doesn't take the likes of Gaius Baltar to realize that's probably what Bill had had in mind when he'd stomped off earlier.

It's nearly dusk when Laura hears the telltale sound of Bill's boots crunching on the sand outside. Turning, she watches as he ducks through the open tent flap, his eyes seeking her out in the gathering darkness. They stand watching each other silently for several moments, and then he's striding across the room to envelop her in his arms. As he buries his nose in her hair with a sigh, Laura notices that the expected stench of alcohol is absent and breathes her own sigh of relief as she finally allows herself to relax against him.

"Where've you been?"

"Saul's. Ellen asked me to say hello."

"I'll bet she did," Laura snorts delicately. Shifting slightly in his arms, Laura feels the unexpected press of Bill's knuckles against the small of her back and looking up, she reaches behind her to take his fisted hand in her own. Bringing it around, she's surprised to find him clutching a fishing pole; a quick glance over Bill's shoulder tells her his own pole is still propped by the entryway where it belongs. "What's this?"

"I borrowed it from Saul," he says simply, "For you."

Brow furrowed, Laura cocks her head and gives him a quizzical look.

"I thought we could go fishing tomorrow," he finally elaborates, and Laura can't help but smile at how uncertain he looks in spite of his obvious efforts to appear otherwise.

"But I don't know how," she says, grinning slightly as she reaches out to take his hand in hers.

"I'll teach you."

Not ready to let him off the hook just yet, Laura gently takes the pole from him and studies it for several moments. "You will?"

Bill's gaze shoots up to meet hers unflinchingly. "Yes."

She smiles then, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. "I can't wait."

* * * *

Bill had insisted they get an early start the next morning – too early by her traitorous body's standards. She'd woken to the disappointingly familiar throb of a headache behind her eyes and it had taken everything she had to turn at the sound of Bill's sandpapery voice in her ear, smile, and pull herself from the comfort of their bed as if nothing was wrong. He'd almost certainly have insisted she stay behind if he'd known just how poorly she'd been feeling, Though Bill might not agree with it, Laura has long since resolved not to let her cancer take anything more form her than it already had.

And as they slowly make their way along the lake shore toward what Bill described to her as his 'favorite spot', Laura is glad she forced herself to make the effort. It feels good to be out here, breathing in the crisp morning air as she pushes herself to keep pace with him. Even the occasional concerned glances she catches him giving her as they walk side-by-side aren't enough to dampen her mood. "You never did tell me how you found this place."

"Saul and I stumbled onto it when we were first surveying the area. Initially we thought it might make a good spot for one of the settlements."

"What made you change your minds?"

"Why don't you see for yourself?" Bill replies, coming to a stop beside her and pointing ahead to where the shore narrows and rises in a gentle slope above the waterline. Laura can just make out the beginnings of a narrow footpath leading through the trees and after flashing him a brilliant smile, she starts off. As she walks, she can feel the gentle press of Bill's hand at the small of her back, guiding her as they make their way along the sun-dappled, narrow trail. It isn't long before they emerge from the trees, and Laura finds herself standing in a small, grassy clearing on a low outcropping of rock overlooking the lake below. Stopping at the edge, she pauses to look down into the deep, clear water of the lake, and smiles when she notices the silvery flickers of fish moving just beneath the sunlit sparkles of the water.

The scene is idyllic, reminiscent of every dream she'd ever had of Earth during the long years spent in space. Quiet and secluded, it's also a perfect place to go when one doesn't want to be found – a feature Laura is certain wasn't lost on the two men when they discovered it. Turning, she favors Bill with a playful grin. " _Now_ I understand; you wanted this place all to yourselves."

Bill's surprise at her intimation is disappointingly short-lived. "Not at all; we decided the soil was too rocky for cultivation."

"Of course," she replies indulgently before turning her attention to the fishing pole in her hand. "So, how do I get started?"

"First things first," he says, shrugging his pack from his shoulders and crouching down to unzip it. "You've got to choose the right bait."

"And I do that…how?"

"This time of day, Silver Bullets are what we'll see the most of, so we'll be using these," he explains, pulling a container out of the pack and peeling off the lid to expose its contents.

"Silver Bullets? Whose idea was—" The teasing words die on her lips as she bends down to peer into the box in Bill's hands. Inside is a writhing mass of iridescent black beetles, and Laura feels her stomach lurch uncomfortably at the sight.

"We're going to use _those_?" she asks faintly, taking an unconscious step backwards.

Bill looks up at her in concern. "Laura? You okay?"

"I just…don't like bugs very much."

"They're harmless."

"Doesn't matter," she counters with a sharp shake of her head. "Could you please?" she asks, closing her eyes and waving a hand in the direction of the lid at his feet.

She can hear Bill scuffling beside her, then the sound of the pack's zipper being pulled shut. "Okay; I put 'em away."

"Thank you," Laura breathes as she opens her eyes to find him watching her with concern. "When I was a child my sister caught a handful of beetles in our yard and thought it would be fun to hide them in my school bag."

"Your sister?"

"Sandra. She was something of a tomboy. I didn't discover what she'd done until we were at school and I reached into the bag to get my textbooks for class. The feel of them crawling over my fingers…" Laura winces slightly at the memory. "To this day I'm convinced the whole school could hear me screaming. I know it's silly but I've never been able to get over it."

"I'll bet your sister thought it was entertaining."

"She certainly did," Laura replies, the memory bringing a fond smile to her lips. "And she was pretty proud of herself, too – until she got home and discovered the headmaster had spoken to our parents. She was grounded for the better part of a month, if I remember correctly."

"And to think all it would have taken to rattle the indomitable President Roslin was a handful of bugs."

"Gauis Baltar wasn't the only reason I hated it on New Caprica."

"There were some good times, though," he offers as he stands and brushes the dirt from his palms.

"A few." Laura takes a step closer and reaches out take one of his hands in hers. "There's a lot more to like about living here on Earth, though."

"Such as?"

"Well, the weather's certainly a lot warmer."

"Is that all?"

Laura pretends to consider the question. "Drier, too."

An imperceptible tightening of the lines around his mouth tell her that her teasing has missed the mark. Closing the remaining distance between them, Laura cups his face in her hand and strokes her thumb along his stubbled cheek. "And the company's a lot nicer too," she murmurs before leaning in to kiss him softly.

"Tell you what," he says once they've broken apart, "I'll bait your hook for you."

Dropping her hand to her side, Laura regards him seriously for a moment before asking pointedly, "And if I want to do this on my own at some point?"

"We'll find you something else to use for bait."

"Okay."

Bill makes a show of slowly reaching back into the knapsack and Laura smiles gratefully in response before turning away to instead focus her attention on the sunbathed shoreline on the far side of the lake. Though he's talked about it, she knows Bill still hasn't found the time or felt comfortable sparing the materials to build a boat; other projects like the construction of the cabin have taken priority. And so – save the initial aerial Raptor sweep conducted shortly after landing – the far shore remains largely unexplored and uninhabited.

Laura is just wondering whether she might be able to convince Bill to build a boat with room enough for two when she feels him come up beside her and press one of the fishing poles into her hand. "Ready to get started?"

He takes him time showing her how swing her arm to ensure a good long cast, and pointing out the spots on the water – a collection of lily pads under the shade of leafy tree branch, a rotting log jutting out of the water and onto the nearby bank – where the fish would be most likely to congregate. Laura had always assumed fishing to be a passive, simple endeavor; yet as Bill continues to explain why it's important not to cast in the same spot more than once or twice, she's amazed by just how much time, attention and strategic thought goes into each cast, each turn of the reel. And it's easy to see from the expression on Bill's face as he sends his line arcing into the water how much he's enjoying the activity.

"Where did you learn all of this?"

"My uncle. He and my father both learned how to fish from my grandfather, before the civil war. After my grandparents died, they immigrated to Caprica and would go out together whenever they could. Once I was old enough, Sam made a point of taking me out and teaching me everything he knew."

"Your father didn't go with you?"

"No," Bill replies tightly and without elaboration.

"Another reason you and he didn't get along so well?"

Bill nods slowly, his eyes intent on the point where his line disappears under the water. "Sam always said that fishing was a lot like—" He abruptly falls silent and, looking up, Laura is surprised by how still he suddenly is. If she didn't know better she'd say he looked embarrassed.

"Like what?"

"Never mind."

"Bill?"

He casts a self-conscious glance at her out of the corner of his eye. "Like sex," he eventually mumbles.

Suppressing a grin, Laura licks her lips before asking carefully, "And exactly how old were you when your uncle imparted that pearl of wisdom?"

"Old enough." He straightens suddenly, his gaze shifting to the end of his pole which she notices has begun to bob imperceptibly. "Though it was a few years before I realized Sam knew exactly what he was talking about," he adds with a none-too-subtle leer as he pulls himself to his feet and begins to turn the reel.

She knows she should be paying attention to the mechanics of what he's doing so she'll be prepared if – when, she hopes – she'll have to do the same; but she finds her attention unexpectedly diverted by the way his arm muscles tense and flex as he works the fishing pole back and forth, gently guiding in his catch. The tanks and worn field pants he's wearing are all too familiar and even as she firmly tells herself to stop staring, that she's seen everything there is to see – she can't tear her eyes away. Perhaps it's the heat of the day, the story about his uncle, or the fact that it's been days since she's had energy enough at the end of the day to do anything in their bed other than sleep; whatever the reason, she can't seem to pull her mind away from her libidinous thoughts and focus on the mechanics of what he's doing – something she realizes she's going to pay for when she feels an insistent tug on her line only a few minutes later.

"Um…Bill?" Laura anxiously rises to her feet and begins to hurriedly turn the reel.

"No, wait," she hears him say a moment before he comes up behind her, pressing his body against hers as he reaches around her waist to lay his hands over hers on the pole and the reel. "You've gotta go slowly or else you'll snap the line."

Laura nods and lets him take over, doing her best to focus on what he is trying to teach her and not on the way his fingers tangle with hers as he expertly guides her through the motions, or on the warmth and hardness of his body, so close to hers. She breathes a little faster as his lips brush the shell of her ear; "A few turns and then pull up gently," he instructs softly. "You want to draw him in slowly, not force it."

She swallows. "A seduction."

"Exactly," he murmurs as the fish, its scales shimmering in the sunlight, comes into view. Releasing one of her hands, Bill reaches out to grab hold of the line, bringing the fish in close enough for her to touch. "Nice catch," he says, his voice no more than a low rumble in her ear.

"I happen to know a thing or two about seduction," Laura says with a smile, shifting her weight to lean more fully against him. Freeing her hand, she runs the pads of her fingers lightly, teasingly over the tanned skin of his arm.

Bill chuckles and nuzzles the hair at her temple. "You don't say."

Turning, Laura meets Bill's lips with her own for a lingering kiss. "Let's go home."

"I thought you wanted to fish?"

"I did. And I have. And now I want you to take me home to bed."

"You feeling okay?"

"Does it seem like I'm not feeling okay?" she responds with a wicked smile before leaning to nip playfully at his chin.

Placing his hands on her shoulders, Bill pulls back just far enough to be able to meet her eyes. "You weren't earlier," he says soberly.

Laura's smile fades instantly and she can feel an unwanted heat blooming in her cheeks at his assertion. "I thought I'd been able to keep you from noticing," she replies, looking down to where their fishing poles lie side by side in the grass.

"Laura." There's so much emotion – regret, sadness, understanding, love – wrapped up in those two simple syllables, and Laura feels her chest swell and heart ache with the intensity of it.

"Thank you," she whispers, swallowing past the lump in her throat as she envelops him in a fierce hug which he readily returns.

Laura feels him press a kiss to the sensitive skin below her ear just before he whispers, "I still think you should rest." She pulls back to protest but before she's able to form the words he's swooped in and captured her lips with his own, leaving her breathless. "For a couple hours. I'll clean these fish, make dinner, and then we'll see how you're feeling."

"How I'm feeling?" she parrots flatly, not bothering to disguise her irritation.

Unfazed, he leans in to kiss her again; leisurely, thoroughly, leaving Laura with little doubt as to how they _both_ will be feeling just as soon as they can get through dinner.

The thought sends a delicious thrill through her, and yet she is still unwilling to concede to him quite so easily. Reaching up, Laura runs a hand through his thick, unruly hair and gives him a calculatingly demure smile. "The dishes, too?"

His short, surprised bark of laughter echoes in the stillness, joined only a moment later by the musical lilt of her own as together they set about securing their poles and catch, then head hand-in-hand for home.

 

*fin.*


End file.
